You Will Never Know How Much I Love You
by hptriviachamp
Summary: She remembers the frantic, heady passion and the simmering tension beneath the surface, the secrets and lies and the knowledge that their time together could be over in a moment's breath. It was something she could only describe as la douleur exquise: the heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone she could never truly have.
1. You're Leaving

**You're Leaving**

 _lady, i will touch you with my mind.  
touch you and touch and touch  
until you give  
me suddenly a smile, shyly obscene_

 _(lady i will  
touch you with my mind.) Touch  
you,that is all,_

 _lightly and you utterly will become  
with infinite care_

 _the poem which i do not write._

 _-e.e. cummings_

* * *

The heavy wooden door slams shut behind her, and she winces internally before steeling herself for what she wants- _has_ \- to say.

"You're leaving."

When he looks up at her from the stack of books he's putting into a box, he's not surprised. Indeed, there is an almost amused glint in his eye.

"Well," he says, "I was to leave after two years, and that time, unfortunately, is now."

"I just," she says a little awkwardly, inching into the room, "thought you would leave after the rest of us were gone, Professor."

"I'm needed back in London now," he says with an elegant shrug that simultaneously saddens and infuriates her. Didn't he know? Didn't he see how-

She can hardly bear to complete the sentence in her mind, a rush of emotions washing over her.

"We'll miss you," she says, and then adds with a boldness she didn't know she possessed, "I'll miss you."

He looks up at that, putting his books down to stride towards her.

"I'll miss all of you as well," he says, and she determinedly holds eye contact with him, despite the disappointment welling up in her.

"You were one of my best students, and I know you will go on to do great things," he tells her sincerely, adding, "and if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to reach out."

Oh.

The acknowledgement of her hard work by her favorite professor should make her feel contented, but it does anything but that. It makes her feel restless... hungry, almost.

He's closer now, and he's looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and warmth and something else she can't quite make out. His hand is barely inches away from her own, resting on the table, and she wonders if he'll make a move to hold hers.

"Why are you leaving in a hurry?" She asks, forcibly moving her gaze upwards to met his own..

"Snap elections have been called, and a close friend of mine is positioning himself as the next leader of the party. I've thrown my support behind him- a risky maneuver, but if he wins..."

 _His friend will be Prime Minister,_ she realizes.

"And you might get some sort of appointment out of this?" She guesses, to which he nods.

"Yes."

"Then good luck," she tells him simply, with a ghost of a smile. She doesn't know what else to say, and to her horror, she feels tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. She turns to leave, intent on not letting him see her weakness, when suddenly, a warm hand grabs her wrist.

She turns around to face him, her eyes widening, her breathing now a harsh staccato.

"Is that all you wanted?" He murmurs, his gaze falling onto her lips, and then flicking upwards, amber eyes connecting with viridian.

"I don't know what you mean," she tells him unsteadily, all the while she unconsciously moves closer to him.

"Don't you?" He breathes, his thumb grazing her cheek, catching a tear and rubbing it away. Her eyelids flutter shut at his touch.

" _Professor-_ " she whispers, but she's silenced when his lips brush against her cheek, her jaw, his hands skimming her shoulders, resting on her waist.

"-You felt something," he rasps in her ear. "since the moment you set foot into my class- and so did I-" his tongue flicks against her earlobe, and she inhales sharply.

"You could have done something, but you didn't, and you never needed the grade, did you?" He pulls away for a moment, and she shakes her head, unable to speak.

"No," he answers his own question, a fond smile appearing on his lips, his eyes almost unbearably tender, "You were always too brilliant for your own good."

And with that, he finally, _finally_ kisses her.

It's heated and all-encompassing and so, _so_ desperate, as if he is grasping onto time itself, _begging_ it to slow down, and she _burns,_ engulfed by the fire she is sure is raging around her, but if she is going to hell for this, it's worth every moment.

Because how _long_ has she secretly wanted this?

It's no secret that the two of them have always had a good relationship- their easy banter, her regular visits to his office, him giving her opportunities that underclassmen would otherwise never get, like Davos. No one's ever questioned it before, and she's never thought to do it as well, but all this time, was there always more?

Is there more?

When they finally break the kiss, he pulls away fully, stepping out of their embrace, and he looks at her through his darkened gaze, and she is breathless, awestruck by what she- they- have done. She can only look at him, wait for him to say something, do something, _anything_.

He lets out a shaky exhale before he speaks. "I won't-" he breathes, "-do anything more. Just think of this as... a goodbye kiss."

When he says that, a part of her wants to scream, all fire and rage and righteous indignation, because _how does he expect her to forget something like this?_

How does he expect her to be left with just a kiss and a goodbye, when all she's ever wanted-

What does she want?

Her throat is dry, she thinks suddenly, and she swallows once, exhaling softly, steeling herself for what she is about to do.

"Well, goodbye then," she says, her voice sounding strangely calm, almost disconnected from the turmoil of emotions she feels. She turns to leave.

"This isn't the end, you know," he says softly from behind her. "We will see each other again at some point- I'm sure of it."

She can't bring herself to turn around one last time, before softly shutting the door close behind her.

* * *

 **I'm entering this story under the "Best Romance" section of 39CluesFan-Star and 39addict101's Summer Contest**

 _Just for clarification, Amy is Ian's 21-year old student at some blue-blooded American institution (you take your pick). Ian is a guest professor from London (and a lot older), and teaches global economics or something of the sort, and this is the scene that plays out when his time in America is up, and he is expected back in London._

 _Oh, and "Davos" refers to Davos, Switzerland where the yearly World Economic Forum takes place. For the sake of the story, Ian goes often, and somehow got a few of his students in as well (including Amy)._

 _The poem above is by e.e. cummings, and I thought it fit well, because as a teacher, I guess Ian is supposed to, in a sense, "touch her mind". But much people think of the poem from a more… shall we say, overt point of view, and that works too :)_

 _Tbh I only put it in because it is all I could think of while writing this, and my slightly twisted mind thought it fit the story well, but in hindsight, I'm not sure if it does… ah well._


	2. You've Changed

**You've Changed**

"You've changed."

She's lying if she hasn't been expecting him to come up to her for some time. She had already seen his name on the guest list earlier, and when he saw her- when she saw him- she had known it was only a matter of time.

His eyes land first on her hair, now much shorter than the long auburn curls they had once been, and then on the pretty green dress and silver heels she's wearing that make her feel more grown-up than she is.

 _Grown-up_ , she realizes. That's what he's trying to tell her.

"It's been four years, Prof- Minister," she corrects herself, forcing an expression of nonchalance.

"And you look lovelier than ever," he smiles.

"Flatterer," she laughs lightly.

"How have you been?"

She pauses at the rather innocuous turn in the conversation.

"I- good," she says. "I've been working under Ambassador Ramos for about a year now."

"He's a good man, from what I've heard."

"He is."

A pause, then-

"You must be quite busy… no time for any sort of social life, I assume?"

She almost laughs out loud.

"If that's your way of asking if I have a boyfriend," she says sweetly, "then no, I don't have one."

He doesn't respond, but she swears she see him smile faintly.

Instead, he grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, and hands one to her. As he does so, a glint of gold flashes on his ring finger.

"How is your wife?" She asks casually, taking the glass from him and inclining her head in a silent toast.

If he asked her about a significant other, then turnabout is fair play, she supposes. Besides, it's not the elephant in the room, per say.

(She's always known the state of their relationship to some extent- a merely political marriage between two old families. She had once wondered out loud whether these things even happened anymore, to which he had laughed and replied that they did in his world).

To his credit, his expression reveals very little as to how he feels about her asking the question.

A true politician, she can't help but think.

"She's out and about," he says. "She's living in Cannes full-time now."

She does note, however, that he never says her name.

They don't speak for some time after that, but he doesn't make any move to walk away, and somehow, neither does she. It's a comfortable silence, one she hasn't had in a long time- indeed, there is something almost comforting about his presence, despite what they've said… despite what they haven't said.

Just then, the music starts up, and couples make their way onto the dance floor, as the both of them watch. She absently starts humming the familiar tune, at which he looks at her questioningly.

"I love this song," she says, by way of response.

"Then for old time's sake, would you like to dance with me?"

She smiles and nods, extending her hand, and he takes it. The old cliche about the sparks at any contact suddenly seems startlingly true as he escorts her onto the dance floor.

"If this is for old time's sake," she says as a waltz begins, almost intimately slow, "I don't remember ever dancing with you before."

"No, but I wanted to," he tells her, the corner of his lip tilting slightly upwards. She's struck by how dashing he looks in that moment- debonair really, like those old movie stars- Sean Connery, Humphrey Bogart, Christopher Plummer…

She wrinkles her brows, wondering when she ever had the opportunity to dance with her professor, and why she she would ever turn it down.

"Davos?" He prods gently, and her eyes widen with understanding. "You looked beautiful that night, and the way you spoke to all those people… you seemed so much older in those moments."

She vaguely remembers a daringly backless dress, a descent down the stairs, and being unable to look away from her frustratingly handsome professor clad in a tux instead of her date, a senior that had also been invited to the forum.

But the fact that her professor is the one who brings it up…

 _Strange._

Everyone thinks that it's women that are prone to remembering the past, letting it churn through their minds over and over, and yet the wistful, dream-like tone his voice has taken on… there is no mistaking it for a man reminiscing fondly about those better times.

"I wanted to dance with you too," she tells him, "but I had a date, and well, you know." She only shrugs, but somehow, he understands.

It's just then that she notices how close they are to each other- the dance calls for it, of course- but it's almost as though he's pulled her closer to him since it started. Suddenly, it all seems so much more intimate, and she's sure he can sense it too.

"Did it ever bother you?" He asks hesitantly. "My age?"

 _There it is._

"Never bothered," she replies thoughtfully. "Actually, it made you more attractive. I think it was the fact that you were my professor that... " she trails off, unable to enunciate her thoughts without making him sound worse that he ever was.

"I remember," he says quietly, "that last day- how I grappled with myself for so long, wondering if I was misreading everything, and you weren't ever the slightest bit attracted to me, and that I was a lecherous old man preying on-"

"Stop," she says chuckling, despite him having revealed what must have been haunting him for years. "I was a consenting adult, and you couldn't have coerced me when you kissed me, because you weren't even my professor at that point."

"But for the two years before," he says guiltily, "I pushed the line far more than I should have, and I never stopped myself."

"You never took anything more from me," she assures him, "You could have- and I would have let you- but you never did, and for that... thank you."

"I couldn't do that to you, not when I was your professor- not when I was put in a position of authority over you- and I agonized about that kiss for months afterwards," he confesses.

"I wanted it too," she admits to him, "and for months afterward, I only dreamed about being able to do it again."

When she says that, he looks gratified, but that quickly morphs into something sadder, more subdued.

"Whatever happened between us, there can't be anything more," he says, seemingly warning himself more than her.

 _Of course there can't be_ , she thinks, but despite that, she can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. They will always be doomed in that sense- let it be age, distance, or position that separates them.

But what if they don't have to be, even if it's just for one night?

"I know," she says, and then lets out a stuttering breath for what she is about to say. "I don't have any... false hopes, delusions-" she winces at the word, and so does he- "about what can happen, but," she looks up at him, her eyes pleading, "I wondered... I always wondered, could we finish what we started?"

The shock she sees in his eyes is nothing compared to the shock she feels for having been bold enough to say what she's just said.

Well, if he didn't see her as an adult before, he certainly does now.

But he still says nothing.

"I meant what happened… in your classroom- that day," she says uncertainly, wondering if she's making a horrible mistake by propositioning a married member of the House of Lords- a minister who is also her former professor.

They've stopped dancing now, and he steers her from the dance floor, out the door, and into a secluded alcove in the ritzy hotel. That's when he finally speaks.

"I know what you meant," he says lowly, and his eyes raking over her face, as if to make sense of what she's just said- what she wants.

"And?" She ventures tentatively, her heart rate accelerating by the moment.

Her breath hitches when he tilts her chin up with a finger and her eyes meet his, and amber is the last thing she sees before he kisses her.

It's soft and sweet, and nothing like the last one- the first one- they had shared. If that was desperate, racing against time itself, then this is as though they have eternity.

It certainly feels like an eternity by the time they break the kiss.

"Does that answer your question?" He murmurs. His lips are red and his eyes are a burnished gold, and she feels her heart nearly burst out of her chest, because _this-_ this is it. This is everything she has ever wanted-

And suddenly, he's looking at her like _that_ \- the way he had four years ago, with that unbearable tenderness, almost achingly so, and she's caught and captivated and-

She exhales sharply.

 _This isn't the end,_ she realizes. This night will not be the climax to years of frustration and longing and lingering looks over bookshelves and in hallways and classrooms.

 _This is the just the beginning._

"Yes."

* * *

 _So for clarification, Ian is now a Minister in the House of Lords, and in a few more years, he will drop out, run in the House of Commons, hold a couple cabinet positions, and eventually become PM._

 _Amy is working for the American ambassador to the UK (or the Court of St. James's), and eventually goes on to become a seasoned diplomat and probably an ambassador herself._

 _Davos, again refers to the place in Switzerland where the World Economic Forum takes place. I assume they have a gala or two there._

 _Someone asked in the comments_ _ _how old Amy and Ian are in the story. In the first chapter, Amy was 20 and Ian was in his early 40s, and in this chapter, it's four years later, so you do the math.  
__

 _And thanks to everyone that reviewed- keep them coming! I need all the CC I can get, because this is a sort of romance (illicit) that I'm experimenting with for the first time._


	3. You Will Never Know How Much I Love You

**You Will Never Know How Much I Love You**

 _To my Darling Love:_

 _Do you remember  
the precious moments we shared-  
all those better times  
I never seem to forget?  
Where are you now?_

 _Can you not hear me?_

 _Destruction is beautiful  
Far more than one thinks  
How sweet ours was!  
I once refused to bow and bend  
and lower myself  
But even in my ruination  
I still want you_

 _Wentworth begged once  
And now so do I:  
A word  
A look  
Anything_

 _Tell me that you love me  
Tell me that you adore me  
Tell me that you worship the very ground I walk on  
Tell me that I am your Goddess Divine  
For I am yours  
as long as you are mine_

 _Give me even the merest of signs  
and we can love anew  
Else you will never know  
how much I love you_

 _\- Trivia_

* * *

The crowd in the cemetery is quieter, much more somber. She supposes that the pomp and pageantry of the state funeral yesterday was very draining on those who attended, and besides, the people here were the ones who knew him best… the ones that loved him the most.

She had been surprised when she received an invitation to the private funeral, having gone as a part of the American delegation to the larger one, but when she had received a handwritten note from his daughter, she could hardly refuse.

His daughter is approaching her now.

She looks like his ex-wife from what little she remembers, having only caught a glimpse in a crowded party years ago, and she's not that much younger than herself.

(Her insides coil a little at the latter observation, having never gotten used to that particular aspect of their relationship).

They exchange pleasantries, and she offers her condolences in a formal manner- really, what else can she do? The woman is clearly in the depths of grief, and can barely talk about her father…. until she does.

"He spoke about you often," his daughter says suddenly.

"He did?"

"None of us were blind about how he thought of you… it never was as just his protégé, was it?"

She's a little blindsided by the insinuation, but she cannot bring herself to feel anger, because she is so _tired_. Her mind had been occupied by him and him alone for far too many years, and to leave this world the way he did, and then for her to receive an invitation to say a final goodbye… it's all she's been thinking about for the past week.

"No… no I suppose not."

"We thought- hoped- he would move on afterwards, but he never could." Her eyes fall on the wedding band she's absently toying with. "He never could, but you did." It's cold, almost accusing the way she says it, as if it's her fault for his inability to move on.

In some ways, it almost feels like vengeance to her- the world had looked at them and seen a powerful, charismatic man with a brilliant future ahead of him, and the little girl who had gotten caught up in his golden web.

That's what she had been, wasn't it? A mere girl- an innocent _naif_ that he had ruined and made depraved beyond measure…. and she had enjoyed nearly every moment of it.

But it was more than that. It was always more than that.

Because somewhere along the way, he had fallen for her as much as she had fallen for him. That love had nearly destroyed her- he had nearly destroyed her. She remembers the frantic, heady passion and the simmering tension beneath the surface, the secrets and lies and the knowledge that their time together could be over in a moment's breath.

But she had survived it all, and she had moved on, refusing to look back at a time in her life she would always remember as being filled with what she could only describe as _la douleur exquise_ \- the heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone she could never truly have.

That pain must have been on both sides, she now realizes, because while she had moved on, he never did, and isn't that a testament to the strength of the memory- no, the dream- that was their brief relationship?

He had been as burdened as she had once been.

"You will never know how much he loved you," his daughter says softly, and at that, her startled eyes shoot up to meet hers, finally noticing how they are precisely the same shade of amber as his had been.

For a second, she can almost see _him_ looking at her with those eyes the first time that they met, how his gaze was warm, gentle, penetrating… how once upon a time, he only had eyes for her.

But in a moment, the connection is broken, and she watches as his daughter stiffly walks away.

"I know," she says to no one, her gaze flicking back to the coffin for the last time before she turns to leave.

 _I never want to know._

* * *

 _Well, I guess you can tell whose funeral this was._

 _And as a reference, this takes place 25-30 years after the previous chapter, and it is hinted that Amy and Ian had an affair following the previous chapter for the better part of a decade, until they finally put their careers first, decided it was too toxic, and Amy eventually married another guy that was closer to her age (probably Jake the expatriate). Ian divorced his wife, despite the optics of him coming to Number 10 as a divorcé. Somehow, no one ever found out about the affair other than Ian's family, because he talked about her fondly for years afterwards, and requested before he died that she be invited to his private funeral._

 _I guess this serves as a cautionary tale, because affairs like this rarely end in any sort of happily ever after. Indeed, there is a certain amount of irony in this situation because the man who so clearly held the upper-hand in the beginning of the relationship was gradually reduced (if you notice, the shift in power is visible from the first to the last chapter) until he was essentially haunted by the memory of her, while the student, the younger woman in the relationship, moved on and found solace in something more stable._

" _Wentworth" in the poem refers to Frederick Wentworth in Austen's "Persuasion", specifically, the letter he writes to Anne.  
_

 _I saw in the reviews that some of you were uncomfortable with the age gap, as well as the dubious morality of the whole affair. Regarding the age gap, I figured I'd say it somewhere, and it was meant to make people a little uncomfortable. And regarding an affair being un-Amyish, maybe you're right, but then again, as the series went on, I always thought Amy's morals became a little more fluid. And as for her not wanting to do that to his wife, I wonder, don't you think the same sould apply to Ian? Actually, shouldn't majority of the blame rest on Ian's shoulders, as the adulterer? Because to be fair, he is the one that's married. Amy only marries once she breaks off this relationship._


End file.
